Best 24 quotes in «taxi quotes» category

I imagined loading the God of the Sea into a taxi and taking him to the Upper East Side.

The rumble of a subway train, the rattle of the taxis.

Once I was doing a sponsored walk. In the end I managed to raise so much money, I could afford a taxi.

I'm a terrible singer, but it helps when I have to call a taxi.

It is characteristic of all deep human problems that they are not to be approached without some humor and some bewilderment.

Life is like riding in a taxi. Whether you are going anywhere or not, the meter keeps ticking.

'Taxi Driver' was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I didn't become a weirdo and squawk like a chicken.

When I asked him how long he had been driving a taxi, he said, Dree mouse.

When Ava Gardner get in a taxi, the driver knows at once she’s Ava Gardner. It’s the same for Lana Turner or Elizabeth Taylor, but not for me. I’m never Grace Kelly, I’m always someone who looks like Grace Kelly.

Any church that operates in prayerless and powerless Christianity spend their days and years conducting dust to dust rites in the burial grounds.

An altar is like an airport where spirits take off and land

Refusal to engage in spiritual warfare does not exempt you from being among the next casualties of war

Exiting the building, we shield our eyes with our hands and raise our voices. The wind has really picked up and is sending dirt, dust and debris airborne. A few windblown pedestrians, struggling to walk down the sidewalk, appear as though they might get blown away. I ask Tiger where he wants to go. "ANYWHERE…I DON'T CARE. AS LONG AS IT'S NOT FAR." "LET'S GRAB A CAB. WE CAN'T WALK IN THIS." As I open the backdoor of a Yellow Cab parked at the curb, the cabbie turns and gives me a mean look. "Are you the Floro's?" he asked. Tiger follows me into the backseat, as I answer- That we are. Tiger asked, "And you are?" The cabbie grunts- "ALEXANDER the fuck'n GREAT.

He had a charm about him sometimes, a warmth that was irresistible, like sunshine. He planted Saffy triumphantly on the pavement, opened the taxi door, slung in his bag, gave a huge film-star wave, called, "All right, Peter? Good weekend?" to the taxi driver, who knew him well and considered him a lovely man, and was free. "Back to the hard life," he said to Peter, and stretched out his legs. Back to the real life, he meant. The real world where there were no children lurking under tables, no wives wiping their noses on the ironing, no guinea pigs on the lawn, nor hamsters in the bedrooms, and no paper bags full of leaking tomato sandwiches.

If I set my stones, my mum would be an opal, all swirly colours and clashy statements. I would put her at the north point of my stone compass and be grateful to her for my brains, and the fact that I stand up for myself. I'd be grateful to her for the ease with which I laugh, although I wish she'd rein in her own guffaws sometimes because really, who needs to be that loud? I was grateful that she didn't hover over me like some parents who couldn't seem to let their (nearly adult) children out of their sight without keeping constant telephone contact. He'll, I was even grateful that she had strict house rules that were a pain in the arse, because we both knew it would be much easier if she said yes, but she did no because she really believed no was the right answer.

Most people around here prefer undead drivers, so I never get a chance to make any money on steady contracts.

Ensaio incalculáveis vezes, mentalmente, como vou pedir ajuda. “Taxista, eu tô tendo um ataque de pânico, você pode, por favor, ligar para meu plano de saúde e avisar para virem me retirar daqui com um helicóptero equipado com soro, Rivotril e crianças tocando harpa? Eu sei que isso não existe, mas, por favor, finja que está ligando.

If I could grant wishes do you think I would be driving a cab?

You’re innocent until proven guilty,” Mandy exclaimed, unable to hide her gleeful smile. She missed the way people used to have normal conversations, used to be more caring for each other than themselves, back in the Seventies and Eighties. These days, she realized, neighbors kept to themselves, their kids kept to themselves, nobody talked to each other anymore. They went to work, went shopping and shut themselves up at home in front of glowing computer screens and cellphones… but maybe the nostalgic, better times in her life would stay buried, maybe the world would never be what it was. In the 21st century music was bad, movies were bad, society was failing and there were very few intelligent people left who missed the way things used to be… maybe though, Mandy could change things. Thinking back to the old home movies in her basement, she recalled what Alecto had told her. “We wanted more than anything else in the world to be normal, but we failed.” The 1960’s and 1970’s were very strange times, but Mandy missed it all, she missed the days when Super-8 was the popular film type, when music had lyrics that made you think, when movies had powerful meanings instead of bad comedy and when people would just walk to a friend’s house for the afternoon instead of texting in bed all day. She missed soda fountains and department stores and non-biodegradable plastic grocery bags, she wished cellphones, bad pop music and LED lights didn’t exist… she hated how everything had a diagnosis or pill now, how people who didn’t fit in with modern, lazy society were just prescribed medications without a second thought… she hated how old, reliable cars were replaced with cheap hybrid vehicles… she hated how everything could be done online, so that people could just ignore each other… the world was becoming much more convenient, but at the same time, less human, and her teenage life was considered nostalgic history now. Hanging her head low, avoiding the slightly confused stare of the cab driver through the rear view mirror, she started crying uncontrollably, her tears soaking the collar of her coat as the sun blared through the windows in a warm light.

You don't have to tell me, but since we're friends, you shouldn't mind. Is your dick cut? I mean, I can ask, right? Your dick's pretty big? How big? You're putting me on! Rubber comes in sizes! Like T-shirts? I've seen colors and flavors, but sizes? Spill--you a one-rubber or two-rubber man? And your madam satisfied with Hindustani dick wrapped in two sheets of latex? I knew it, haraami! Now we're talking! No, I don't use condoms. Don't need them. I mean, sure, I fool around; I like Filipina pussy, know what I'm saying. They like singing kar-o-kee and they like men in charge. I've got a Karachi buddy who gets me a Pakistani discount. His merchandise, always clean, so rubbers no need. I don't cum inside though. I'm perfectly satisfied watering the tip of the rose bush.

Everyone in Nashville's got DUIs because there's no public transportation and everyone's too lazy to call a taxi.

Football kickers are like taxi cabs. You can always go out and hire another one.

I approached the bulk of my schoolwork as a chore rather than an intellectual adventure.

If I drive my SUV I'm supporting terrorism. Okay, I'll take a taxi, Is that better?